The Importance of Being Lizzy
by Rhianydd
Summary: Doctor Darcy is in the building and Lizzy only somewhat has her life together. She never intended to fall in love with the man she met at her mother's Christmas Party, but life had a way of throwing Lizzy Bennet the curviest of balls. A story of misunderstandings, meddlesome siblings, and love. Modern AU HEA
1. Just Call Me The Grinch

**Authors Note: This will be my one and only note so if you have anything you'd like answered leave it in the reviews and I'll personally get back to you. This is rated M for a reason - sexual explicit language and adult situations. If that makes you uncomfortable that's fine, I strongly suggest you turn back now. I hope you enjoy this modern reimagining of P &P, I have very poured my heart and soul into this. In a way, Lizzy has become an extension of myself and this Lizzy was more inspired by Bridget Jones, but she's a bit more put together.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1**

 **Just Call Me the Grinch**

It's fine. Everything is fine. It's not like anybody died, though the jury is still out on whether I will survive the rest of the evening. But it will be _fine_. On the embarrassment scale, this is relatively low. I would recover. One day I will look back on this mess of an evening and laugh and think, 'oh when will I ever learn not to open my big mouth?' Ha, Ha, Hardy-Ha.

Maybe if I laugh it off I won't sink behind my mother's hideous floral couch, tearfully rocking back and forth in the foetal position until she calls an end to this entire thing. I keep swinging between nauseous and complete and utter mortification. And it seems the only thing I can do is sip my prosecco and chew on a pig in the blanket pretending nothing ever happened.

I will kill Lydia. Slowly. I might even revive the Viking tradition of the Bloody Eagle, but then that might be too good for her.

To say I should have answered Glenda Lucas's not so innocent question about my love life with a "fine, thanks" would be the understatement of the year. No, I had to blurt out that I was in a rather committed relationship with Bob – I blame the booze mum had been plying me with from the moment I stepped foot in my childhood home for her annual Christmas party.

Glenda Lucas, having been best friends with my mother since they were in antenatal classes with their firstborns together, had naturally yelled across the room to question her about my apparent boyfriend Bob. That was fine. I could have brushed that off, who knows I could have had a boyfriend named Bob, they knew I was on Tinder.

Mum naturally barrelled across the room in a bargain bin leopard print dress, because her big hair just wasn't enough, and pinned me with a dark stare she'd perfected the day I came screaming into the world. It was bloody scary, and my face instantly turned bright red.

It's all that Italian guilt she stores up year long just for me. It makes me crack and I tell them I was just joking. Hoping they would just let it go, and it seemed for a moment that they would. This is what getting away scot-free felt like!

But no, my darling, sweet as pie little sister Lydia just _happened_ to overhear our conversation. Desperately I tried to pin her with a glare, but she resisted – she was always freakishly good at that.

Time seemed to stop when she announced, at the top of her voice, that Bob wasn't made up and that he came in the form of a purple vibrator I kept in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I didn't even know how she knew that information. I didn't even have time process what was happening around me as my entire social credibility crumbled around my ears.

She was like a young, vastly more attractive Poirot. Where was she when I lost the earrings mum had given me for my twenty-first birthday?

There was no way I was ever living this down.

Thing is, my mum's Christmas parties weren't exclusive to just our family. Everybody I had grown up in our small town of Merryton were here watching in gross fascination. Even worse than that? My older sister had brought her boyfriend and his best friend from London especially for the event.

The friend? Dr William Darcy, or as I had been referring to him for most of the night, Dr McHottie. I hadn't said anything more than a friendly "hi" and the way he was glaring at everything wasn't exactly inviting. But now I wouldn't even get the chance to speak to him as an ordinary human.

I was vibrator girl now.

 _Christ._

"Buck up Lizzy," my dad said handing me a scotch, and I offer him a small smile. Some heroes wear capes, mine wears ugly mustard yellow diamond patterned sweaters.

"I'm trying," I take a sip of my drink, it's the good stuff he kept locked in his study. "Did she really have to do that? I should have bought her a muzzle for Christmas."

"Now there is an interesting proposal," he looks at me with twinkling eyes. "If you end up getting her one for her birthday, by all means, feel free to get one for your mother as well."

I choke slightly, before laughing. "I'll get matching leashes, it wouldn't do to let them run free even if they can't talk."

This isn't so bad. I can recover from complete social mortification. Strong independent woman and all that.

"But then how would they be able to snoop in your bedroom?" He chuckled, he was having the time of his life when his daughter was about to perish from mortification.

I downed the remainder of my scotch with a single gulp and handed him back the empty glass with a glare.

"You're really not funny."

"Au contraire daughter mine, I'm hilarious you just need to get a sense of humour."

Glaring half-heartedly at him once more, I turned spotting Jane on the other side of the room with Charlie and Dr McHottie. Making a split-second decision, I hurry across the room to the safety of my sister. Only she isn't really paying attention to anything but Charlie and I had to say her name three times before she even acknowledged me.

"Oh, Lizzy!" She slurs, too much Prosecco. "There you are, I thought you'd run off to cry in your car."

Apparently drunk Jane doesn't have a filter either. Time to tread carefully, very, very carefully. Oh goody, she was now making moon eyes at the perfect Charles Bingley, stay tuned for the inevitable showing of the tonsil hockey championships.

"No such luck, I'm still standing," I smile brightly.

 _That's it pretend everything is fine_.

"If that happened to me I would have died," right, I had forgotten that Charlie's awful sister Caroline was here as well. Maybe I was hoping she would just spontaneously combust.

"Sisters," I shrug with a small laugh. "Am I right?"

"Your sister wouldn't do anything like that would she Darcy?" I watched as Caroline wrapped her red talons around Darcy's bicep possessively.

"Certainly not," he muttered just loud enough for me the catch the most panty melting Scottish brogue I think I've ever heard. Holy Hell. I'm pretty sure he could just talk me into having an orgasm.

"Georgie is such a dear…" Caroline simpered and I briefly forgot my embarrassment for a moment and chose instead to focus on hers. Did she not realise how desperate she sounded?

As awful as I thought she was, Caroline Bingley was stunning. She was a model or fashion editor or something in that vein of things. Practically skeletal, with gorgeous dark brown hair, and face that could make a man drop to his knees. Even her eyes, ice blue and frosty to the core, were hard to look away from. It was way too easy to hate her,

Darcy smiled tightly but made no move to respond.

"So," I said giving Darcy my full attention. "Charlie said you're a doctor?"

Talking about work is a nice safe topic. I would have spoken to Jane but she now had her tongue shoved down Charlie's throat none too delicately. It seems the championships have just begun.

"I work emergency at the Royal."

"I bet you have some cracker stories to share!" I smiled brightly. I lived for medical stories, the weirder the better.

"Not really," he said tightly, his brow furrowing slightly.

At this point, I was certain that I'd had conversations with brick walls that were more responsive.

"I had to go to the emergency room when I was eight once. Dad had wanted to teach me how to fish so he was showing me how to tie a lure. I have no idea how it happened but somehow, I fell backwards into the tackle box and managed to get a hook stuck a good two inches into my ass. They had to cut it out. My right cheek never fully recovered."

I have no idea what prompted me to tell _that_ story. Scotch, I blame the Scotch and the apparently innate need to completely embarrass myself at every turn. Judging by the slightly horrified looks on both Darcy and Caroline's faces, I shouldn't have opened my mouth.

"Okay then," Darcy shifted from foot to foot before just turning and walking away. Lovely. A real charmer that one.

I followed Darcy's lead and left Caroline standing there alone. Someone would surely come and speak to her at some point.

Hurrying into my parent's stuck in the seventies kitchen I sought out the bottle of emergency wine mum hid behind the pots and pans. Desperate times called for desperate measures. It wasn't like I was driving home anyway, I was going to be sleeping in my old single bed upstairs. Something that was almost embarrassing at my advanced age of twenty-four.

The Pinot Gris, the sneaky bugger, was hiding way up the back of the cupboard and I almost whooped in triumph when my hand wrapped around the bottle. Pulling it out, I quickly glanced at the label and made a mental note to make sure mum's gift was extra nice this year.

Unscrewing the cap, I debated briefly on whether I should get a glass or not and promptly took a swing straight from the bottle. Who was I trying to kid? I slumped down against the cupboards, the Island effectively hiding me from the world.

I can't believe how rubbish I am at being a functioning adult. How could I even catch a man if I couldn't even have a conversation with one? The truth is, I know I'm supposed to be all "I am woman hear me roar" and that "I'm a strong independent woman who don't need no man". But I have found, increasingly as I spiral towards my twenty-fifth birthday, that it seems so great in theory, but does nothing to help with the crushing loneliness. Everyone I seem to know is either shacked up, engaged, or married and ready spawn. And here I am drinking wine straight from the bottle and realising my longest functioning relationship is with a vibrating piece of plastic.

My stomach clenches and I swallow hard. Can't think about that. _Come on Lizzy, you're better than this_. Taking another swig, I tried to think of everywhere I would have rather been than sitting alone in my mother's olive-green kitchen.

The only place I want to be, I quickly realised, was in my bed preferably with my cat Minerva curled up with me watching The Grinch. The one with Jim Carey that's so bad it's actually good. He, like me, didn't hate Christmas, he just hated people. I could relate on a deeply personal level. I wish I had a cool cave to hide from the world in. My own personal paradise right there.

Another swig of wine.

I'm pathetic. Truly pathetic.

I pulled my phone from my pocket wondering vaguely how much it would cost me to Uber back to my flat in London. Too much. No Grinch for me, more party to suffer, but at least I had good wine.

Scrolling through Facebook slowly there was a common theme on my homepage – engagement, baby, wedding, so and so is in a relationship. Which only served to fuel my none too secret bitterness.

"Hate, hate, double hate," I said as pictures of the smiling couples went scrolling past. "Loathe entirely."

Well paint me green and stick me in a cave. I have ceased being Elizabeth Bennet and instead morphed into the Grinch. When did I make the transition from young, hopeful Cindy Lou Who to this?

Do we just reach an age when being jaded becomes the norm? I'm guessing it occurs after about six months of unwanted celibacy. Pretty sure I had cobwebs down there and with no romantic prospects there was no end in sight for this particular dry spell.

A notification from Tinder flashed on my phone telling me I had a match. Well, things were beginning to look up. Getting out of Facebook, I opened Tinder and found I had been matched with Steve who was twenty-five and lived in Brixton.

My face fell as I saw his profile picture. The image of an overweight, balding man in a full bondage suit is something no amount of bleach would ever be able clear from my mind. And oh goody, an accompanying message;

 _You look delicious. I want to tie you up and eat you whole. Call me daddy and I'll have you screaming my name._

I didn't know I could feel such utter revulsion. Yeah buddy, let me just drop my knickers for you right here and right now. All I needed now was a dick pic and I would be done for life.

Steve from Brixton was clearly a lesson in what could go wrong when you played Tinder roulette. Swiping right continuously until your likes ran out was good for a bit of entertainment, but oh how quickly I was feeling the repercussions.

I locked my phone and pushed it away from me as I took another bracing gulp of wine. Maybe I could become the crazy aunt of the family, that one person that's invited everywhere out of obligation and not because anyone actually wants you there. I only attend these events because I was forced to, and I was particularly susceptible to my mother's special brand of guilting.

As I took another gulp of wine, I begin to think and ponder, both things that are entirely too dangerous for me to do. Maybe I should message Steve from Brixton back. I think I could enjoy light BDSM ala 50 Shades but without the abuse.

Could I really call a man who wasn't my father daddy though?

Another gulp of wine and my phone was back in my hand, opened on Steve's message. Stuff it. I deserved a bit of fun. I wasn't dead yet.

I quickly typed a reply;

 _Does that ever work?_

More wine as I waited for those three little dots to appear. I almost cheered when they did and if that isn't the saddest thing in existence I don't know what is.

 _You can call me whatever you want my sweet ginger snap. I prefer master. Do you swallow?_

Oh, Lord. Okay, first a reference to my red hair which was more boiled carrot than ginger. Master? Nope. That's a huge nope right there. I didn't even have words for the last part.

Another message came through quickly;

 _I can't wait to make you choke on my nine incher._

This was a bad idea.

Steve from Brixton is gross.

He was also clearly compensating.

Yet the wine told me to reply. Bad wine. I would resist the call. I had more self-control than this.

I wrestled with myself for all of thirty seconds before the wine won out and I found myself replying;

 _Nine inches huh? Nine inches of what? Bullshit?_

The three dots appeared almost instantly as I took another massive swig of wine. He seemed to be taking a long time, so I took a second and third gulp. Looks like Steve from Brixton is having trouble collating his thoughts.

Oops spoke too soon.

A single word message popped up:

 _Bitch._

Oh no, I think I drove Steve from Brixton away. I took another swig of wine and I must say I was feeling rather good for the first time this evening. The buzz was nice and I could almost forget where I was.

Almost.

Because like all good things, my solitude soon came to an end at the hands of Dr McHottie and Charlie. Both of whom crashed into the kitchen in rush of hushed words.

They clearly didn't know I was there because I somehow got this distinct impression that this wasn't a conversation I was meant to overhear. I quickly took another sip of wine and went into full eavesdropping mode.

"Isn't Jane just wonderful?" Charlie's words were slightly slurred. Clearly, he wasn't immune to the prosecco either. "I think I love her Darce, full ass over head in love."

"Jane is… lovely," Darcy conceded. "But the rest of her family seem to be non-compos mentis."

My family may be a little crazy, but at least they didn't have a massive stick shoved so far up their ass they may as well be choking on it.

"I like Lizzy," Charlie laughed. "She's funny."

I could practically hear Darcy's eye roll. "She's deranged."

"Eccentric," Charlie amended.

"From the shallow end of the gene pool."

Alright, Dr McDouche. I think he gets the picture, no need to be a complete tool.

"Everyone is different," Charlie is so sweet. If Jane ever leaves him I will beat her senseless with my stilettos – well, her stilettos I only owned sneakers.

"In her case, she may as well be a different species," Darcy sighed. "Who the Hell starts rambling on about getting a hook stuck in their ass to a complete stranger?"

I will not think about how much the way his says the word "ass" turns me on. It's the wine talking and clear heads would prevail in the morning. _Focus Lizzy!_ I have to remember everything so I could regale Charlotte with all the information in the morning.

"Probably nerves."

"I'm sure that's it," Dr Douche didn't even attempt to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "Charlie, look the thing is…"

Taking another swing of my wine, I settled in for the long haul, because even though my ass was going numb and I was possibly five sheets to the wind, I needed to hear whatever came next. Call me a nosy Parker if you must.

Only, Darcy never got to finish his sentence because right then dear, sweet, drunken Jane decided then was the opportune time to invade on our little party.

"Charlie," she called in a sing-song voice. "I _need_ you."

Must not think about my sister having sex. We were fairly open in most things, but that wasn't one of them.

I heard her trip and stumble into his arms with a giggle. "Janey, you, me, upstairs now."

Oh, God. Did I pack earplugs? Wasn't this a traumatic enough experience for me already?

They both bade Darcy goodnight in a fit of giggles and I could just tell he was loving that by the fact he said nothing in return. And I could only hope they didn't walk through the kitchen and spot me in my hiding spot.

But like everything that occurred that evening, I wasn't so lucky.

Charlie had thrown my sister over his shoulder and was carrying her caveman style to her childhood bedroom. Jane was laughing uncontrollably, her blonde hair falling over her face. She pushed it back of her face and looked me straight in the eye.

I tried to shake my head, but she opened her mouth anyway.

"There you are Lizzy!"

 _Think fast Lizzy, you can do it._

Falling forward, I pretended to be searching the ground in case anyone bothered to look. They did.

"Oh, _there's_ my contact."


	2. Come on Negative

**CHAPTER TWO**

 **Come on Negative**

Oh God.

How do I always get myself in these situations? My dad always said that if there was trouble to be found I would be right next to it. But then again I'm not sure he is the most reliable of sources on such thing since I'm fairly certain he spends the majority of stirring up trouble with my mum. Maybe trouble is a Bennet gene.

Dr Douche has worked his way around the island and had taken to staring down at me with such a heated look of disdain I'm surprised I didn't spontaneously burst into flames. Charlie had turned around to causing Jane to swing behind him in a fit of giggles.

It was sickening.

Slowly blinking, I smile ruefully as I look up at them through my lashes – maybe if I look repentant they will just go away. It wasn't that I had anything to be repentant over, it was just easier to pretend to avoid the ultimate confrontation. I was too tired and a little too tipsy to handle this entire situation.

Charlie just laughed and shrugged the shoulder Jane wasn't currently slung over. He tightened his grip on her as he turned to leave and swatted Jane playfully on the ass as took her upstairs. It was all very "me Tarzan, you Jane, now we make beautiful babies."

I was at least ninety-three percent happy for her. Which given my current state of entrenched loneliness is not too bad. We don't talk about that other seven percent.

Jane and Charlie were the very definition of the word wholesome. Not only were they singularly the most adorable couple on the planet (I'm totally not biased), but they were on that non-stop train to happily ever after.

Having been together a little over six months things were only just beginning to get serious though that didn't stop mum from being all aboard SS Wedding. She even brought home a bunch of bridal magazines, fabric samples, and had even bought her 'mother of the bride' dress.

She'd made no secret of her desire for Charlie pop the question. In her mind, there was no one better for her eldest daughter. He was smart, rich, and handsome. Well, rich wasn't quite the right to use, astronomically wealthy would be far more accurate.

Of course, that was the kind of guy Jane picked up at a bar. Some women just had all the luck.

My gaze landed squarely on Dr Douche, there he was arms folded over his chest, tapping his foot impatiently. It was the best impression of my mother I'd ever seem. I would have made a comment to that effect but the scowl he levelled on me caused me to change my mind.

Vaguely, I wondered whether there was a correlation between the level of attractiveness in a man and how much of an asshole he is. Dr Douche was off the charts for both of these qualities so there simply had to be a link.

Being alone with Dr Douche wasn't something I had planned nor was it the way I wanted to end my evening. But here I was, once again caught in a situation I had no control over that painted me in a less than desirable light.

 _Great._

It was really so tremendously unfair that he looked exactly like my dream man. Curled dark hair, mercurial grey eyes, and the most kissable lips I'd ever seen on a man. I bet he brooded too, he looked the sort in his dark shirt, dark pants combo.

There was that evil little voice at the back of my head that told me to throw caution to the wind and to forget the fact that I abhor this man and drag him upstairs myself. That little voice has a direct line to my vagina which was agreeing wholeheartedly with the idea.

 _Damn alcohol._

His eyes hardened further and his lips pursed as he raked his gaze over me. I was still on all fours on the ground, it was all rather embarrassing. It was actually terrifying how much he reminded me of my mother, even more so than before.

I was no stranger to disapproval. When I'd told my mother, I was dropping out of university to go to patisserie school when I was nineteen she almost had a coronary. I was supposed to be the prestigious one, the one with the law degree. Instead, now I do exactly what I love.

My best friend and I opened up our own cake and cupcake store specialising in unique and bold flavours. We were doing exceedingly well and after gaining a big following online we now have a storefront. It really was a dream come true.

It didn't take long for me to realise that Dr Douche wasn't going to say anything until I did. He was quite happy to stare and stubbornly refuse to be the first to speak. I forced a slight cough to break the tension.

"Right… I think it's time for bed," I said awkwardly.

I leaned back on my knees and tried to pull my legs out from underneath myself to stand up. It was easier said then done I quickly discovered. Somehow, and I'm still not sure just what had caused it, I ended up tipping over onto my side.

My arm knocked into the half-empty bottle of wine and it fell over with a dull thud. The wine poured from his quickly making a beeline for Dr Douche's feet. I was helpless to do anything. I was doing a rather good impression of a turtle that had been put on its back and unable to get back on to their feet again.

The good doctor came towards me, a slight smirk on his lips. The kind of smirk you just want to kiss off. Wow. Where the Hell did that come from? My lady bits were clearly trying to control this situation much to my chagrin.

Leaning over my sprawled state, Dr Douche extended his hand to me. I debated for all of about two seconds before I slid my own into his. I hated that I noticed how warm they were, slightly rough and huge. Never in my life had I ever taken such a keen interest in hands and I didn't think I particularly wanted to start now.

He pulled me up with a quick tug that sent my tumbling into his chest and boy what a chest it was. Well, what I could feel under my palms in any case. How could God create such a perfect specimen of a man but make him so tremendously awful? It was hardly fair.

I looked up into his eyes, butterflies erupting in my stomach, my heart thudding a hundred miles a minute in my chest.

 _Get a grip, Lizzy!_

Shaking my head I rip my hand from his and stepped back so fast it was as if I had been struck by lightning. His eyes flick to the bottle of spilt wine, then back to me, then the wine again.

"You know drinking alone is the first stage of full-blown alcoholism?" He drawled.

And for the first time in my life, I was literally struck dumb. I had no words. How could he go from doing something nice (something that went a long way in helping him redeem himself) to saying something like that?! It truly baffles the mind.

I hit him with a sharp glare. "Is that your professional medical opinion then?"

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "There have been numerous studies done on the subject."

It took all the strength I possess in my tiny body not to roll my eyes at him. "Well in my _professional_ opinion I don't think we dedicate nearly enough time to researching a cure to assholishness."

"That's not a word."

"What? Assholishness? Sure it is," I smile sweetly. "I can use it in a sentence if you like. Here you go, guys that go by the name of Darcy are the definition of assholishness."

He furrowed his brows slightly. "That's a gross generalisation."

"Can you present a study on that?" Cocking my eyebrow I feel my lips form a devilish smirk and that's when I know I've back him into a corner.

"If this is about-"

My phone buzzes effectively cutting him off from what he was going to say – not that I particularly care. I spy my phone laying discarded on the kitchen floor, lighting up the room brightly as the ringtone blares full volume – and much to my eternal shame it's Will Smith's "Get Jiggy With It".

There was only one person who would call this late. Well… two people but one of them was upstairs getting jiggy with her perfect boyfriend upstairs. That left Charlotte Lucas, my best friend, business partner, and all-around partner in crime.

Ignoring Dr Douche's less than impressed look, I bent down and pick up my phone from where it lay just out of what I'm calling the wine danger zone. It had already gone to voicemail by the time I'd gotten to it but as soon as I got in my hand it quickly came back to life as Charlotte's name flashed screen.

I press talk and press the phone to my ear.

"Alright, what happened?" She only calls when something major has happened. Something that couldn't be said via message.

"Lizzy…" Her voice is trembling slightly and I sober up almost instantly. "I've fucked up. Big time." I don't dare breathe, Charlotte is the together one, she doesn't have the opportunity to mess up. That's my job. "Lizzy? You there?"

"Yeah… I'm here."

Charlotte takes a deep breath before continuing. "I'm late, like really late. Oh God."

* * *

Two days later and instead of saving some money at the boxing day sales, I'm instead in line at our local pharmacy with three different pregnancy tests in hand. I should win an award for being the best best friend ever. What do I know of pregnancy tests and babies? Absolutely nothing, but here I am being as supportive as can be.

The cashier gives me a judging look that I didn't appreciate. It was one of those looks that every woman over the age of forty has perfected. Will I just wake up one day in the midst of middle agedom and suddenly able to slip that look to anyone in their twenties?

I wanted to scream; "it's 2017 Carol!" But I thought better of it. I can handle it. I think it would break Charlotte though and she was already a little fragile these days.

It took me less than five minutes to get home, tests in hand, and the huge bottle of orange juice she'd requested. She was sitting in our small lounge room, head in her hands. I felt for her, I really did.

"Cha cha, time to pee on a stick!" I say brightly, maybe if I'm at ease she will be as well.

She looks up at me her eyes rimmed red from her crying. "I really don't want to know. If I don't know I can pretend it's not happening."

"Come on Char. You know you need to. Then you can work out what you're going to do next. But until you do you'll be stuck in this limbo."

"I know you're right," I rummage through my bag and pull out the first test, shaking it slightly in front of her face. She snatches it quickly. "Pass the juice as well."

With a slight flourish, I pull out the litre carton for her and proceed to watch with gross fascination as she downs the entire contents without a break. That was a neat party trick.

Charlotte stands stiffly and marches towards the bathroom. I follow her and set up camp just outside the door. We may be close but there is no way I'm going to watch her go to the bathroom. There are some lines that can't be crossed.

"How did this even happen?" I call through the door, trying to ignore the fact I can hear everything going on in there.

"I met a guy at O'Malley's we flirted, had a few drinks, and well one thing led to another and bam! We were back at his house. The worse thing is I don't even remember his name."

"What you wearing?" I don't know why I asked that question, it definitely wasn't relevant, but I always was a curious one.

"It was that black Vivienne Westwood," that explained a lot. She only wore that dress when she was on the prowl which meant she always carried some protection. Idiot thy name is not Charlotte Lucas.

"Okay, but you made him bag it right?"

"I _think_ so?"

"You think so?" This was so unlike Charlotte, she was the most careful person on the planet with absolutely everything she does. She won't even leave the house before she's checked the stove has been turned off twice.

"Yeah well, I really drunk…"

 _Not an excuse._

"Maybe his machinery is broken?"

"There was nothing wrong with it. It was perfect. I've never come so hard in my life. Maybe his boys don't swim right?"

I choke slightly. "Or that he's spent his entire life nuking his balls."

"I'm praying his sperm is lazier than Homer Simpson right now."

Okay so this was a little bit of a mess, but we were true champions. There was nothing we couldn't do if the test produced two lines instead of the one she clearly wanted it would be fine. Charlotte always had the startling ability to land on her feet, unlike me who always seemed to crash face first into the pavement.

"So I take we're praying for negative?"

"To every single freaking deity you can name," she punctuates every word.

"How long do we have to wait?" I can't help but ask, I think we're as nervous as each other at this point.

"This one take five minutes," I heard the toilet flush and Charlotte swung the door open. "I'm so scared. What if it's positive? I can't be a mum. Look at me."

I was looking, and she looked a complete mess. I'm not sure when the last time she slept was though judging by the dark circles under her eyes it can't have been recently. Her hair was a tangled, greasy mess on top of her head, she had a major break out across her chin, and she was in sweatpants so old I'm surprised they haven't retired themselves.

It was a good thing I came home early.

No sister left behind.

"There are options you know…" I hope I sound sympathetic, but there's no precedent for this in my life. I know people who have given birth to tiny humans. I've just never been there on this side of things.

Charlotte looked at me sharply and I know I've said the wrong thing. "I'm keeping it," she paused. "If I am, you know… spherical…"

I tried not to laugh I really did, but a bubble of laughter escaped my lips anyways. "Spherical?"

"Rotund. Expecting. Knocked up!" Her frustrated tone sobers me up instantly and a feel a pool of guilt well in my stomach.

Time to change tactics.

"Are you going to try and track down baby daddy?"

"I don't really know what I should do there. Is it wrong that if I am in _that_ way that I sort of want to go it alone?"

Personally, I think Charlotte could do anything she sets her mind to. A child though? That's a huge thing. It's not even a thing, it's a human being. A whole human being. That's a mildly terrifying thought.

I would support her no matter what she chooses. She was with me when I told her about my cupcake idea, I will be here for as long as she wants me to.

"Who's to say what's right or wrong anymore?"

She looks thoughtful for a moment, mulling over my words, but instead of saying what was clearly on her mind she changed the topic.

"Alright, we have three and a half minutes left to go so distract me."

"With what?"

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. " _Anything_. You never told me what happened after your showdown with Doctor Douche so start there."

"There isn't really much to say honestly. After you called I went straight to bed and he was gone by the time I woke up the next day. Charlie said he had to work or something. Not that I cared. Especially since Caroline was still there and still laughing over the vibrator thing. Which only got worse when I opened Lydia's present which was for reasons only known to her and the rest of her clearly alien species was a rather scintillating porn DVD," I paused before adding perplexed. "Who even buys DVDs anymore?"

One would think that was the worst aspect of that present. But no as soon as I tore off the gold wrapping paper and looked down at the monstrosity in my hands I knew I would never be able to forgive her. What could be worse than a porn DVD? A parody porn DVD based on my favourite film.

I was more than a little bit murderous when I threw _Evil Head_ at her. It caught her dead centre of her forehead and I was insanely proud of my new found throwing skills, something I had never possessed before that moment. Seriously, how do people even take these films (I use that term very broadly) serious enough to get off? I would be laughing as soon as the imitations made it onto the screen.

My other question was, how dare they desecrate the pure B-Grade genius that is the Evil Dead films? It's a crime of the highest order.

But my story worked, Charlotte cracked a smile and even laughed somewhat. "She didn't! Where would she even get one?"

"eBay apparently. She told me it was listed as 'like new'", I shuddered.

 _Like new_ isn't the same as _brand new_ and we all know it.

"Ew…"

"My thoughts exactly," I said. "I threw it straight in the bin after that."

"Well, what else were you going to do with? It wasn't like you could watch it since you don't even own a DVD player and keeping it around kind of feels gross. You can't hide that nearly as well as you can hide your internet history."

Isn't that the truth.

"Dad, of course, thought it was hilarious," I rolled my eyes. "He says mum's the crazy one. I think he needs to take a look at himself."

"I love your dad," Charlotte laughed.

"That's because he's not yours!"

"Yeah but my dad thinks he's a comic genius when he says the jokes from the Christmas crackers. He laughed for twenty minutes over one this year. _Twenty minutes!_ "

"Which one was it?" She shoots me a 'don't go there look'. "What? Some of them are genuinely funny."

She sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Fine. What does Santa suffer from when he gets stuck in a chimney?"

"I have no idea."

"He gets _claustrophobia._ "

I can't help it. I laugh harder than I ever thought possible. Don't ask me why I found that so funny. It just did.

"That's gold. Pure gold."

As I say the words the timer on her phone goes off. Time to face the music so to speak.

 _Come on negative!_

I notice Charlotte's hands are shaking as she picks up the test she'd left on the basin. Turning back to me with a pale face I know all our praying hasn't worked.

"Well…" She breathes through her teeth. "Shit."

It's one of those insanely awkward moments where you just don't know what to do. Do I hug her? Do I say something? What do I do?

"Do you want me to do anything?" I ask.

Her eyes well up with tears though she blinks them away quickly. "Yeah, there is. Can I just get a little alone time? I need to process this."

I nod in understanding and decided leaving the house would be the best call of action.

Knowing me, if I stayed I would be just asking her every two minutes if she was okay and how she was coping. She didn't need that from me.

It takes me approximately thirty minutes to tube it to our cupcake store in North London, and as soon as I resurface from the underground I check my phone. There are three messages – two from my mother about my dad's upcoming birthday and one from the phone company – but all is silent on the silent front.

Not that I was expecting anything.

Is it weird that I was feeling as helpless as I was when none of this was happening to me?

I wanted to be there for Charlotte, but I just didn't know how. Her parents would blow their tops, Glenda would have an aneurysm and there was really no telling what her policeman father would do. Her siblings would be absolutely no help and she was planning to go it alone.

Walking up to store I feel myself relax somewhat. There's nothing like baking to help you think and relax. We were opening up the next day for limited trading, in any case, there was no harm in getting ahead of the baking.

Twisting my key in the lock I come face to face with my favourite place on earth; _For Cake's Sake!_ Everything is decorated in soft pastels, contrasting with cool steel and glass of the display cases. We have an old-fashioned cash register and plush booths for patrons who decide to eat in.

I don't even bother going into the small office to check the emails. Instead, I go straight into the kitchen of my dreams- the place I whip up all my best recipes.

Spying a forgotten bottle of Guinness sitting in the fridge an idea begins to form. And before I know it I have my cherry red Kitchen Aid mixer on the counter and I'm measuring out my ingredients.

A cup of Guinness here, some Irish Whiskey there, a dumping of chocolate, and some Irish Cream to finish it off.

Bake.

Fill.

Frost.

I pick one up and take a massive bite – it's one of my best yet. I named it; _The Baby Maker_ in honour of Charlotte. I'm not sure she'll appreciate the name, but I know she'll appreciate the effort even if she can't eat them.

Taking another bite I realise I still have no clue what to do about the Charlotte situation. This baking frenzy has only accomplished a few extra pounds headed straight to my hips.


	3. Ever Seen That Movie 127 Hours?

**CHAPTER THREE**

 **Ever Seen That Movie 127 Hours?**

 _The Baby Maker_ wasn't my only new cupcake creation of the day. I had ended up experimenting with five other recipes with varying degrees of success. The aniseed cupcakes were a tremendous fail, but I had managed to perfect my gluten free carrot cake tentatively named the _24 Carrot Cake_.

I never got much of a chance to experiment these days and finding the time to get into the kitchen to do so was ridiculously hard. Before I'd moved in with Charlotte, I just used to hijack my parent's kitchen, which while outdated was huge and perfect for my baking fits. I'd always said I would chose my house dependent entirely on the kitchen. If it wasn't big enough to house an army I wasn't interested.

That was naturally all completely forgotten when I become 'independent' and branched out on my own with Charlotte. After starting our own business, we weren't exactly rolling in money and London rents being what they are we could only afford a two-bedroom dive with a kitchen the size of a postage stamp.

It had occurred to me that once Charlotte's little bundle of screams came along our current living situation would need to change. But knowing her like I did, she probably wouldn't even bring that up until she was in the delivery suite and even then it would be a complete after thought. It wasn't that she was irresponsible or anything, current baby situation notwithstanding, it was just she hated to let people down. And now it would be up to me to come up with a workable solution.

That was a daunting task in itself. I wasn't a problem solver. I was a problem creator. Somewhere between October and now, our roles had been completely switched on me and I wasn't entirely prepared for that.

So, it was with great relief when Jane interrupted me after what had to be my tenth cupcake – I find food in times of stress is invaluable, but my ass hates me for it – and asked me to come over. I was all over that idea considering I hadn't had any real one on one time with Jane since well before Christmas.

Snow had just started to fall when I left the shop, my successful cupcake attempts packed in a box tucked under my arm, as I made my way towards the tube. Jane only lived four stops away which I was particularly thankful for since I'd let behind my gloves behind and I thought my fingers were about to fall off.

It wasn't supposed to have snowed.

That was the only thing I could think of when I tried to flex my fingers into working again. As far as winter days went, it was supposed to have been relatively mild. It was sort of the perfect representation of how my life was going as a whole. Which, if I was being honest, wasn't really what I was expecting.

By my age I supposed to have been married, or at least had a serious boyfriend. I was supposed to be a responsible adult, but I still don't really know how to do tax and have to get my dad to do it for me. I was definitely supposed to be living far more glamorously and not in a shoebox flat, looking like someone who had stepped from a nineties grunge magazine and exclusively drank £4 bottles of wine from Tesco.

No one tells you growing up isn't quite what you expect it to be. You're sort of just thrown into the world having to suddenly work out things like bills, appointments, and generally fending for yourself.

Getting off the train, I pushed through an unexpected crowd of people as I tried to make it out onto the street. What was equally unexpected was the amount of snow that had now fallen. In the twenty minutes since I'd left the shop, the streets had suddenly been blanketed white as the sky grew steadily darker.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, well the best I could with the box of cupcakes hindering me and trudged through the street. Wearing sneakers that day was bad idea. Within in a matter of two minutes the canvas was completely soaked through and the cute bunny socks I had bought from _Primark_ were squelching with every step.

By the time I turned the corner into Jane's street I was fairly certain my feet were frostbitten and that I would have to get Dr Douche to amputate the gangrenous toes. He'd probably enjoy that considering he didn't seem to like me all that much.

I could see him now leaning over my blackened little piggies, rubbing his hands manically in glee at the prospect of removing the crazy lady's toes. Well, probably not manically, he'd just look at me like I was the biggest idiot on the planet for not bothering to wearing snow boots when there was quite obviously a borderline blizzard situation going on.

Somehow, I didn't think he'd take the line; "it wasn't _supposed_ to snow" as an excuse. I very much envisioned him as the sort that was always prepared for every eventuality, not that I really even knew that guy beyond our interactions at the Christmas party. But for some reason I could see him in that boy scout uniform with 'always be prepared' tattooed across his forehead.

I burst out laughing at the thought.

To be clear, I wasn't imagining Dr Douche as a child in this uniform, no, I was thinking of the grown ass man in a child size uniform. The image was solid gold and I desperately hoped one day I could somehow trick him into wearing one for one of Jane's famous costume parties.

 _Woah. Hold those horses right there Lizzy._

Since when did I even want to look upon Dr Douche again? I wanted him as far away from me as he could be, preferably on a completely different continent. I would settle for Antarctica, but even _that_ may be a little too close for comfort.

Shaking my head to clear those disturbing thoughts from mind, I continue up the street towards Jane's. The roads were clear, and everyone had retreated indoors, not that I could blame them, I was fairly certain it was about negative two thousand. It had turned an often-bustling street into a ghost town and I wasn't exactly sure I liked it.

Unease settled in my stomach as I came up to Jane's house. The sooner I got inside the better in my opinion. The wind had started to whip up the snow around me and whistled harshly through the abandoned streets. God. It was like a scene out of pretty much every horror movie ever.

I've never known a house that suits a person as much as Jane's does. It's one of the older buildings on the street, but it has an old-world charm about it that draws people in with its warmth. The small garden at the front is surrounded but a wrought iron fence which was covered in pink climbing roses. Inside the walls are painted in soft pastels and covered with various photos of the family.

The home is full of interesting antique furniture and I am quite convinced she missed her calling as an interior designer. You walk into Jane's house and think 'quiet elegance', you walk into mine and think 'bomb sight'.

It's the sort of house you expect the fashion editor at a magazine to have. But for some reason I always expect to see fashion prints, mock ups, and everything else she works with all over the place. Not Jane's. I don't know how she does it. Everything has it spot, and everything is so perfectly organised that it's almost scary.

Organisation isn't exactly a Bennet strength so I'm not entirely sure where she gets it from. Mum is pretty on top of things, but I think that's just a mum thing more than a personality thing. The rest of us may as well have been raised by wolves given our lack of domesticity.

When I ring the bell, I'm pretty sure I'm on the borderline of hypothermia. It feels as if the temperature has dropped even lower than I ever thought was possible and my body wasn't exactly happy to be still exposed when it intrinsically knows that Jane will have a nice roaring fire going on in there.

"Lizzy!" Jane greets brightly, a huge smile plastered on her face. "Come in out the cold."

"Thank God!" I pull the box of cupcakes from under my arm as I follow Jane through into the kitchen. Pausing for a moment, I toed my icy shoes off and left them in the hall to dry. "I bought food. I was going to stop at Asda to get some wine, but it was so bloody cold there was no way to tell if I would have survived the trek."

Jane grabs the box from me and sits it on the counter. "More experimenting?"

"These ones are good I swear."

"You've said that before."

I put my hands up in defence. "It was one time."

"They were awful," Jane replied. "I've never been so sick in my life."

Admittedly the bacon and chocolate combination didn't work out quite the way I thought it would. Maple syrup is sweet, and it works fabulously with bacon. So, to me at least, logically chocolate should have worked just as well. Here I was, first year of patisserie school, thinking I was a culinary genius. It was an unmitigated disaster.

"I'm never living that down am I?"

"Nope," Jane laughs, before she looks at me properly for the first time. "Oh shit, sorry, you must be freezing. Do you want to borrow something to change into?"

"I'm not going to find anything weird in your closet now you're committed with Charlie, am I?" I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth.

It's becoming abundantly clear to me that I really need a filter. Even a filter that only caught like every tenth cringe inducing thing I say. That would make my life so much easier.

Jane laughs. I almost hate how good humoured she is, it almost doesn't seem fair to me. She can find the good, the funny, and the brilliant in everyone. Nothing offends her, she is quite content to go about her life spreading her special brand of sunshine to everyone she encounters.

"You'll be right. I'll get the tea sorted while you're gone," she replies, waving me towards the stairs.

Smiling appreciatively, I head upstairs with a quick; "you're the best."

There is something truly spectacular about sisters, especially ones as close as Jane and I were. We were about as opposite as they come in just about every way, but somehow it just works. I don't think anyone else would let me raid their clothes on a semi-regular basis, nor not complain when it takes me forever to give them back.

I would let Jane raid my closet as well. Though I don't really see her in old ripped jeans and flannel shirts from the local charity shop. I had maybe one or two 'good' dresses, and maybe one non-denim skirt. But Jane had an abundance of everything fabulous.

I took her up on the offer of a shower and was eternally thankful. When feeling returned – rather painfully – to my feet, it was a relief to know boy scout Darcy wasn't going to come after my innocent toes.

And soon what I intended to be a mere five minute warm up, turned into twenty minutes of pure bliss. I never wanted to be cold again and decided then and there I would just stay the night if Jane let me. Let's be honest, she would if only because she always wants someone to watch and comment on _The Batchelor_ with her.

Wrapped in a bright pink fluffy towel that barely covered my assets, I made my way towards Jane's bedroom and flung her closet doors wide open. As glorious as her collection was, Jane and I were very different sizes.

She was practically Amazonian and was so thin it seemed as if a strong gust of wind may knock her over. Lydia, much to my eternal annoyance, was built exactly the same. But when I was being mixed up by the big guy upstairs, he seemed to have forgotten the height. I'm fairly certain there are toddlers that stand taller than me. And considering I don't even crack five feet, it's not exactly hard.

It wasn't all bad though, what the big man neglected in the height region, he more than made up when he blessed me with the twins. Besides, being so small meant I could save some money and shop in the kid's section which was a surprising boon. Children's shoes? Nearly half the price of adults and considering I primarily wear sneakers no one could tell the difference.

So, who's the real winner here?

I go through each item individually, trying to find something that would a) fit and b) be comfortable for what was set to be just an evening sitting in front of the TV probably gorging on cupcakes and left overs.

There was nothing.

Well… Not _nothing_.

There was a nice formal dress that would have looked great on me but wasn't exactly appropriate. I also found my costume from her last party hanging neatly laundered towards the back. There was something very disconcerting about seeing a _Super Mario_ costume amongst clothes that cost more than my rent. Especially one that cost £10 from eBay and was labelled as; _Italian Super Plumber._

Giving up, I tucked the end of the towel in at a spot at my side and went back downstairs.

That was another great thing about sisters. You can parade around like this and they don't even bat an eyelid. It's sort of just an accepted thing. At least that's the way it was between me and my sisters.

"Jane!" I yell as I come down the stairs and head towards the lounge where I knew she'd be waiting for me. "There's nothing in your wardrobe that'll cover my fat ass."

I stopped dead in the doorway. Jane was waiting for me like I knew she would, but she wasn't alone, and I was suddenly painfully aware just how short the towel sat on me. Four sets of eyes stared up at me as I did my best imitation of a beetroot.

The fact that my legs were resembling a rather fuzzy blanket didn't even cross my mind until Dr Douche ran his eyes over me with a scowl and Caroline smirked at my obvious discomfort.

 _Bitch._

Charlie looked like he was trying not to laugh, and Jane shot me a sympathetic look before she stood up.

"Come on, I'm sure I have something," Jane said as she walked passed me and headed upstairs to help me.

I went to follow but paused halfway up the stairs when I heard Caroline make a comment. In the short time I've known her, which in my opinion was far too long, she seemed to have a ready comment for everything.

"Oh my God," she cackled. Actually, cackled like some deranged witch. "There are no words."

"Caro be nice," Charlie warned. "She's just come from work."

Have I mentioned recently how much I love Charlie? In a strictly platonic, you are a wonderful sort of person sort of way. How are the two of them related when he's so nice and she's so not?

"Given the size of her thighs I have to wonder how much of that _work_ actually gets sold," Caroline replied snidely.

I heard Dr Douche start to reply, but I didn't catch the words as I raced towards the bedroom.

What gave her the right to comment on my body like that? I may not be all bones like she was, but I was proud of who I am. Did I want to lose a couple of pounds? Yes. But it wasn't my grand focus in life. Beside that ill-advised cupcake binge and Christmas as a whole, I had fairly healthy eating habits and I run on a semi, bi-annual basis when I'm late to work.

The way I see it is that you have one life to live so you may as well make the most of it. Calorie counting wasn't one of my great ambitions in life. I'm very much a firm believer in do what you want to do and screw those who'll judge you for it. If you want to eat nothing but salmon and capers go ahead, but buddy, there's no way in Hell you will ever be able to separate me from my pasta.

Okay, so I wasn't exactly the poster child for health and fitness. But who cares? And why is Caroline so concerned with the size of my thighs? At least mine were pleasant to look at.

Pausing on the landing, I was torn between going back downstairs to give her a piece of my mind or just letting it go.

 _Be the better person Lizzy._

I decide to listen to myself and do as Adele Dazeem did and let it go.

For now.

I continue back into the bedroom and find Jane bent over a basket of freshly washed clothes. She looked up at me and threw a t-shirt and oversized sweatshirt at me. Before digging for a pair of pants.

"You didn't tell me anyone else was coming," I say casually even though I want to rip Caroline's extensions from her head. "That was a nice surprise."

"Didn't I? They were all going to go to the football today, but as soon as the weather report came in about the snow they thought better of it in case they got stuck. Aha!" Jane pulled out a pair of jeans that were mine and for the life of me I had no idea how they ended up there. "I knew these were somewhere," she threw them to me.

"Somehow I can't exactly see Caroline getting into the football."

"She's says she loves it. We went to a game the other week and her and Darcy got really into it."

Caroline was definitely into something and I would bet my entire life savings, which was non-existent, that it wasn't football.

"I'm sure she did," I say lightly.

Jane frowned at me. "I don't know why you don't like her. She's lovely."

"Oh yeah like a lamb that one," I reply, barely able to hold back my eye roll. "But I'm not about to gainsay you. I'm sure she's lovely to _you_."

"You barely know her," she pointed out patiently.

Dear Jane. Good Jane. Amazing Jane who just wants everyone to get along with each other. Sometimes I really think she is too pure for this world.

"While this is true," I concede. "I don't really need to get to know her to know that I will never like her."

"Lizzy…"

"What? I'm just being honest. There's nothing wrong with that. Sometimes people just don't get along with each other and I have a feeling that me, Darcy, and Caroline will just never be simpatico."

She knew the Dr Douche story of course and she was just as impressed as I was. Which is to say not at all. However, she is way quicker to forgive and forget than I am. If holding a grudge was an Olympic sport, I would win gold every time. I was still holding a grudge from that time in year one when Mary King tangled my slinky.

"Just be nice," she said as she went to leave the room.

"I'm always nice!"

I take as long as possible to get dressed for the simple fact that sitting in the living room downstairs was like my own personal Hell. I should have just gone home. At least then my self esteem wouldn't have taken a beating.

Unfortunately, I didn't take long enough and before I knew I was back downstairs squashed next to a scowling Darcy and the hard arm of Jane's couch. I had managed to throw my hair into a messy bun atop my head but I knew it was less than impressive.

Considering the people I was surrounded with it was easy to feel less than impressive all around. For people who were supposed to have been going to a football match, they seemed entirely too well dressed. Caroline was even wearing heels!

Everyone seemingly paired off with each other, which left me painfully on the periphery bored to tears while Caroline went on about her latest modelling contract with Darcy. Jane and Charlie were in their own bubble, blissfully unaware they were monopolising each other. And since no one had decided to include me in any form of conversation, I was left counting down the minutes until this was over.

Ever seen that movie _127 Hours_? Well, I think cutting off my own arm would have been less painful and far less time consuming than this was.

On and on they droned for what seemed like eternity.

"Isn't that right, Eliza?" Caroline asked, drawing my attention.

"It's Lizzy," I don't know why I bothered to correct her, I knew she was only doing it to get a rise. "And what are we talking about?"

"I was just telling Darcy that I'd just finished reading _The Handmaid's Tale-_ "

"Congratulations," I butt in and I swear I saw Dr Douche's lips twitch slightly at that.

Caroline huffed slightly before continuing. "And I was just talking about how it should be essential reading for everyone."

"Oh? I couldn't really get into it personally. I don't like her style, but each to their own," I shrugged.

"What sort of books do you like then?" Darcy asked in that voice that would have made me weak at the knees if I wasn't already sitting down.

"Honestly? I love my romances. I know they're predictable, but I love the journey."

Give me a good highland romance and I will be happy. Anything that stars a sexy, take charge Scot in a kilt, sign me the Hell up.

"What like those Mills and Boon books my grandmother reads?" Caroline laughed. "That's a bit sad isn't it?"

"I read for the enjoyment of it," I smirked slightly before continuing. "Not simply to impress others."

I bet Caroline is the kind of pseudo intellectual who has a copy of _War and Peace_ sitting casually on her coffee table. Extra points if her very prominent bookcase holds anything by Kafka and the novel _Infinite Jest_.

I could tell Caroline was trying to come up with a biting retort given her rather impressive impression of a fish.

 _Point Lizzy!_

Darcy was staring at me and I vaguely wondered if I had suddenly sprouted a second head. I wasn't sure if it was a glare, or just pure disapproval. Though I'm not sure what it was I'd said that was obviously so offensive to him.

As it turned out I didn't have to think too hard about that when the lights started flickering and then went off completely. Because that's exactly what this day needed. A blackout. Meaning I was stuck here until the power came back, which could be any time.

No one knew what to do, we all sort of collectively sat still in the darkness not saying a word. Much to my surprise, it was Dr Douche who spoke first.

"Do you have any candles or torches?"

"Yeah in the kitchen, I'll go grab them," Jane replied quickly as she stood up.

"Good, what about a portable phone charger or a battery radio?" Darcy asked.

"Both upstairs in my room, did you want to grab them Lizzy while I get the torches? There should be some spare batteries in the box the radio is in as well if you want to bring them to."

"Roger that," I replied as I stood up myself.

"I'll go with you," Darcy said not giving me a moment to argue before his warm hand was on my lower back and directing me towards the stairs.

 _Think of the boy scout uniform!_


End file.
